“My mother ran to the next house,” I continued thickly. “But it was the same. In all the houses. By agreement—they all agreed, the men and the women—the fathers came home and destroyed anything they had of value… and killed their families. After that was done, the men met in the square, and drew lots. Ten men were chosen to kill the rest. They drew lots again, and one man killed the other nine. Then himself. So when the Romans came in, there weren’t any homes to plunder or any women to rape or any rebels to chain up and parade back to Rome. There was only a dead city, still full of food. The Jews left that, to prove they didn’t kill themselves out of starvation.” I looked around the couches. “They killed themselves out of defiance.”

“We hold suicide a sin,” the black-bearded nephew said. But the anger had leaked out of his voice.

“Which is why they drew lots for the killing,” I answered. “So only one man would have to kill himself.” Though I wondered how many had had to stab themselves, like my young aunt, when their fathers couldn’t do it. I imagined putting a sword to the throat of Demetra’s little son, his face turned up eagerly to mine, and I shuddered.

“It was still a sin,” the nephew said stubbornly. “They should have lived.”

“To be slaves?” I looked at him until he looked away. “My mother was a slave. Her and a handful of other children who somehow escaped. They all died young except her, and there were plenty of times afterward she wished she had died.” I looked around the table. “I was a slave too. It’s no life.”

Another silence. Beside me I could feel Simon’s tense body. I felt sorry for ruining his dinner. I never got anything right.

“Perhaps we’ve talked enough of this,” his mother said brightly. “It’s Shabbat.”

“We should talk of this because it’s Shabbat.” The freckled girl named Mirah spoke up from the couch across from mine. Her voice was low and strong, though I could see tears in her eyes. “He’s right. Masada was a triumph.”

“Not exactly…”

“They died as they wanted, and Rome got no victory. Isn’t that a triumph?” Mirah looked at me. “What happened to your mother?”

“She won her freedom,” I said slowly, picking my words. “She’s on a mountaintop now, with my father, and more children besides me. She lives.”

“Then Masada lives too.” Mirah lifted her goblet, and I lifted mine. There was a moment of silence, and then Simon lifted his cup and said something in Hebrew. The words sounded harsh, but I looked over at him and saw his eyes glittering like brands.